


let me photograph you in this light

by orphan_account



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Pain and Suffering, M/M, a constant reader battle of: cheesy or poetic?, basically a 2.6k long Yikes, violently sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus knows better than to make mistakes on his own heart, but Alexander Lightwood does him the unfortunate favor of existing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me photograph you in this light

**Author's Note:**

> first work on this account !!
> 
> it's not super well written so i suppose ??? read at your own discretion, mon ami

There are things to be said about Nephilim, and Magnus will be the first to attest to that statement.

Attitudes have changed enough for Magnus to not want to whisk himself from this dimension and have sleepovers with his father for the rest of his life, but he’s dealt with the restrictions on his own life for too long, nearly killed thrice over because of some high and holy law he does not abide by. Children of the Angel will not let him set one foot in the sacredness of their existence, yet intend on barring the way for others living in the shadow world regardless. Slightly hypocritical, no?

It goes without saying that Magnus won’t stand for the existence of Downworlders remaining ignominious, but the feat of ignoring the Clave gives him migraines on bad days. And on good days...well. We’ll leave with the knowledge there’ve been no good days when dealing with Nephilim.

So as you can expect, falling in love with Alexander Lightwood was definitely not part of any plan (and he has many), and leaves one disgruntled, emotionally damaged, slightly pissed off Magnus Bane to sweep up the pieces of his own heart.

He’ll grudgingly admit that it’s no one’s fault but his own, because Magnus is an immortal warlock who’s lived over four hundred years and should know better than to take the same route twice, but he’s fucked up in the past and he expects to continue fucking up in the future, and what better to do than run away from his problems? It certainly worked in Paris and Peru - why not now?

He’ll move from Brooklyn with Chairman Meow, ask Catarina for the favor of memory removal, because she’s a good friend and probably won’t liquify his brain in the process, and start a whole new life free of Lightwoods and the Institute.

So here he is, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, hemming and hawing about how to deal with a boy who broke his heart.

\--

“I’ll pay you anything,” Alec says, desperate. “Please, Magnus, whatever you want, I’ll get it.”

The warlock fiddles absentmindedly with a ring. “Anything?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “That’s a hefty bargain.”

“I know,” Alec says, and he breathes this like something sacred.

Magnus wishes he doesn’t want to hear his name said the same way.

He tilts his head to the side, contemplating, as he magics his coffee away with a lazy flick, allowing a faint smile to grace his lips. Any bigger and it’d be too tight around the edges. Any bigger and Alec would see his sadness that hounds his eyes.

“I’ll save your sister,” Magnus says, and watches tension spill out from Alec’s shoulders. “And I’ll leave the terms of agreement for this transaction simple: I require no monetary compensation for my testimony.”

He holds out a finger to halt Alec’s confusion.

“All I ask is that I never see you, or any of your friends again,” he says, watching the finality of his request draw Alec up short.“I don’t want Nephilim or mundanes or Downworlders knocking on my door because a Lightwood needs my help, understand? I don't want calls, texts, letters - anything of the sort - landing on my doorstep because some Shadowhunter has gotten themselves in trouble again.”

This is the smallest he’s has felt in a long, long time.

He watches as Alec struggles with the information, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, Chairman Meow tangling his tail between the Shadowhunter’s legs.

Magnus picks at an imaginary piece of dirt beneath his fingernail, and when he asks, somewhat impatiently, “So do we have we have an agreement, Lightwood?” he feels terribly, incredibly exposed, watching Alec's tightly crossed arms and the furrow of his brow.

“Fine,” the Shadowhunter relents. “Fine, fine. Save my sister and we walk right out of your life.”

Chairman Meow shrieks and scuttles away to his usual perch on the windowsill; Magnus unfolds himself from his chair, rising gracefully to his feet.

“I’ll have a hard copy of a contract delivered to you as soon as I draw it up,” he says, tilting his head to the side with a wry expression. “Since not everything can be made to appear via magic, I’m afraid, but that’s no matter.”

He snaps, and the apartment’s door swings open smoothly, Magnus making his way to the entrance with Alec trailing behind him, feet shuffling. They're quiet, the warlock watching Alec's descent with an indistinguishable expression.

Alec barely makes three steps down before he turns around, and says “Thank you," because a bitterness in knowing this is last time he’ll ever be in this apartment again, and damn him if he doesn't get a good view of it when he still can.

Magnus nods in acknowledgement. "You're welcome, Alexander," he replies smoothly, eyes on Alec as the latter flashes him the fraction of a grin before turning around.

The reason why Alec has his back to Magnus (when all he wants is to look at him for the rest of his life) is partially because he's attempting to maintain his image of the cool, suave Shadowhunter, but also because he can't quite feel for the next level down without looking, and really doesn't want the unfortunate incident of crashing down the stairs in the middle of this conversation. A thought flashes hot and quick across his mind, and it's urgent enough that it forces him to swivel back around to face Magnus and nearly brain himself in on the wall as he scrambles to say, “Oh, uh- by the way- the the trial’s tomorrow.”

The warlock smiles, and there’s something impossibly sad about it, but there’s something impossibly sad about everything nowadays.

“Yes, I know, thank you,” he says, “I'm afriad wouldn’t be a very good witness if I didn’t show up.” The pale outline of his cat eyes watch Alec in the gloom of the building. “And-”

“-yes?” Alec replies, wincing at how eager he sounds.

Magnus has a hip leaning against the doorframe, hand in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he says. The words pulse under his tongue, in his collarbones, through his knees.

“For what?”

Alec sees Chairman Meow unfold himself from the sofa and cross the living room leisurely, stopping to stretch halfway through with a lazy yawn.

“For everything,” Magnus says.

And the sound of a lock being turned easily rivals the roar of Alec’s breaking heart.

\--

“The jury has come to the verdict to declare the defendant, Isabelle Lightwood, as not guilty. She is hereby cleared of all charges,” the judge says, expression incredibly bored. The slam of the gavel yanks Alec out of his anxious stupor, and he scrubs two hands down his face as he slumps in his chair with relief. “Case adjourned.”

Alec manages to gather enough of his wit to clap along politely with the rest of the crowd, but can’t bring himself to stand, seeing as his knees have turned to jelly, but grins when Isabelle practically leaps into Clary’s arms. The two of them are babbling a mile a minute, even as Jace runs up to them and crushes both in an excited hug.

The commotion of the room fades into background noise when someone says, “Alexander,” and Alec glances up to see Magnus standing next to him, hand outstretched. The warlock glitters, even when he’s not wearing anything ostentatious, besides a small charm that rests lightly against his collarbone. “Come along, there’s something I must tell you.”

Following a Downworlder who seems to know twisting hallways of the Institute better than Alec does is one thing, but following Magnus through the twisting hallways of the Institute with the barest peek of hope is another. Alec tries to crush it before it goes anywhere; it doesn’t work.

Magnus stops, eventually, in a sector where Alec can recalls being lost in - eight years old and terrified, struggling to not break down in tears. The warlock scans the paintings with an air of displeasure, arms crossed over his chest with a mix of annoyance and anger and frustration in his expression, and Alec-

And Alec realizes that’s probably because of him.

He knows that Magnus has never liked getting involved in Shadowhunter business, avoiding anything related to the Clave like the plague, and here Alec is - shoving him right back into the thick of it.

“Magnus-,” he tries, and gets shushed for his troubles.

“I’m trying to admire the portraits of the ancestors who’ve killed countless friends of mine,” he says. “It’s an enlightening experience.”

“Ah,” Alec says, and shuts up - mostly out of courtesy, but partially because he doesn’t really know how to reply to that comment.

They stew in silence for a few minutes, Alec uncomfortably aware of how far apart they are, and how much he aches to reach a hand out and close the distance.

“I don’t hate you, Alexander,” Magnus says eventually, posture unchanging.

Alec blinks.

“Um. Thanks?”

Magnus turns to look at him with faint amusement.

“I know you’re worrying about it,” the warlock says, closing the gap between their shoulders easily. “I’m here to tell you to stop worrying about it.”

“Right,” Alec laughs, “Cause you care so much,” he says, a poor attempt of humor that ends up sounding more bitter than anything else.

“I’m sorry?” Magnus asks.

“Nothing, I just…” Alec attempts to amend, flushing with embarrassment.

“No, I want to know.”

Alec wraps his hands around his chest, curling into himself. “I just, uh, I just- it just seems like, uh, you know...you don’t care about us?” he squeaks out, wincing.

“I...” Magnus looks confused, “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I don't want to put words in your mouth, but it didn’t sound like you were thinking about anybody else’s feelings yesterday, when you got all “never see me again”,” Alec says, feeling something hot and desperate rise in his chest. “And that’s not the kind of thing that people ask for,” he chokes out, taking a step back in horror as he feels his throat start to close up.

“Alexander,” Magnus replies, voice dead, “You don’t understand half of what you’re getting yourself into.”

Alec’s hands are shaking now; it’s more of a struggle to breathe. “Do you really hate us that much?” he asks, nearly inaudible.

“No,” Magnus replies, sounding horrified, “I was going to explain before-”

A lurch of anger surges in Alec’s chest, and he struggles to not let it get away from him.

“-before you leave us forever? Yeah, well I’ve listened to you talk long enough, Magnus,” he snaps, “I’m tired of you trying to keep up this "oh so mysterious" act, because it isn’t working.”

Magnus laughs, but it’s sharp and bitter - nothing humorous about the sound. He opens his mouth to say something, but Alec beats him to it.

“Hey,” he asks, “You remember asking me to sign that stupid fucking contract you sent me the other day?” The tiniest voice in his head telling him to shut the hell up. “I gave it to Izzy to read, and she also said it sounded like you were running from your damn problems, now that I think of it.”

Magnus fauxs surprise as he scoffs, “ _Right_ , because _Isabelle_ always gets to decide everything-”

“-you know the fuck what? It’s not just her, Magnus, because Jace so much as said the same exact thing this morning!” Alec shouts, furious. “And you know damn well that he never says shit like that-”

“-well, how am I supposed to know what Jace-”

“-don’t act like you don’t know-”

“-no, I really don’t-”

“-stop pretending you’re better than all of-”

“-fine! Fine!” Magnus yells, throwing his hands up in frustration. “How about I let you in on the big fucking secret as to why I don’t care, alright? You get off my damn case about it and we part on our merry ways.”

“Yeah, I’m dying to know-”

“-take what I said about not understanding half of the problem before-”

“-all I’m hearing are excuses as-”

Magnus’ expression is pure anger as he shouts, “-because I love you, stupid Nephilim!”

And all the air seems to flood from the room - all the world reduced to Alec and Magnus standing in a nameless hallway in the New York Institute with generations of Shadowhunters glaring down at them.

The words are spilling from Magnus' mouth now, unheeded, and there's no way he's going to be able to stop himself after this.

“I’m leaving because I love you, and you don’t, but I’d spend the rest of your life waiting for you to love me back anyway, and I can’t deal with that.”

Alec stands dumbstruck, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“I understand that you don’t...you know. It’s okay. It’s fine,” Magnus says, voice quieting. “Anyway, I should be going. Sorry, I wasn’t even going to tell you all this in the first place.”

He turns to leave, but Alec grabs Magnus’ shoulder and turns his around, eyes furious, dark and impossible to read until he cups Magnus’ jaw with a shaking hand and practically folds himself half for a kiss.

Magnus, for once, is shocked, seemingly unsure of what to do with the situation - something that nearly makes Alec pull away, but the warlock has one hand rooted in the Shadowhunter’s hair by that time - kissing him back with unparalleled gentleness.

The exchange is scared and soft, the quiet feel of Alec’s hands around Magnus’ waist, both their eyes closed and trying to compact the distance between them into nothing. They say: I want your atoms of your stardust against atoms of mine - no time for space, please, we’ve already waited long enough.

It’s all their apologies in one, it’s “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before”, and “I’m sorry we fought. I’m sorry we hurt, I’m sorry I can’t do anything about our lives anymore.” It’s “I love you” and “I know” and “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”.

Magnus breaks away with a sobbing hiccup, pressing their foreheads together with a pained expression on his face.

“I’ll miss you,” Alec says. Then: “I love you”, voice breaking.

He wraps his arms tighter around Magnus when he does, careful not to let him slip away, and feels the latter rise on his toes to press a kiss to his temple, to the crown of his head, against the side of his jaw.

They stand in silence for a while, until Alec says, “I’ll see you to the door,” with an air of dejection, his voice wrecked.

The two of them pull apart, slow, and Alec watches Magnus adjust his collar for the last time, run a hand through his hair for the last time, smooth his shirt down for the last time, before they wind their way to the Institute’s entrance, the rest of the building surprisingly empty. The door opens for Magnus when he snaps, a rush of cold air greeting both of them as it swings in the wind, the brightness of New York’s nightlife beyond marble and granite.

The warlock seems to glow in the darkness, coattails fluttering on either side of him as he takes a step out of the threshold, glancing back at Alec like it’s an afterthought.

The Shadowhunter smiles, and it tugs uncomfortably at every muscle in his face. He raises a hand in farewell, trying to soak up this moment as much as he can - the squeak of his sock inside his loafers, his tie pinned around the heaviness in his throat, the way Magnus looks as devastatingly beautiful as he did the first time Alec had ever set eyes on him. All that effortless grace in his limbs, the slope of his jaw in the darkness of a house party, the slope of his jaw in the darkness of evening, now.

“Thank you, Magnus Bane.”

And Alec says his full name, because this is not an almost - this is their last.

The warlock huffs, smiling, and the expression is leaps and bounds more genuine that Alec’s, but they both know he’s had centuries of practice by now.

“You’re welcome,” Magnus replies, sounding out the syllables with an accent Alec’s never quite been able to dissect. The Shadowhunter lowers his head in a fraction of acknowledgement.

They watch each other for another minute; there’s no going back after this.

“So, uh,” Alec says, hand braced against the door frame awkwardly. “I guess this is it then.”

“I believe so,” Magnus replies evenly. His expression borders mournful as he takes another step down the stairs. “Goodbye, Alexander Lightwood.”

And Alec knows won't be able to get another word out of his mouth no matter how hard he tries, so he just stands on the stoop of the staircase and watches the line of Magnus’ shoulders disappear into the wilderness of the city.

\--

That night, he cries himself to sleep by the foot of a bookshelf in the Institute’s library, trying to fill the ache in his chest with his own arms.

Magnus goes back to his apartment and drinks himself stupid, dimly wishing the alcohol would kill him. He knows it won't, but it feels like his heart is about to.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading !!! you rock [a rock emoji]
> 
> maybe keep ur eyes peeled (please don't actually peel your eyes because that wouldn't be pleasant for anybody) for a possible part 2 ??? it'll be super short & not very sweet, but i've already got the plotline planned out, so i might as well follow through; we'll see
> 
> hope u have a great week !!!!


End file.
